


Shadow Ghosts

by PlotQueen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Magic!Stiles, Peripheral vision, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlotQueen/pseuds/PlotQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens Stiles has just stumbled home after he, Scott and Derek have dealt with a rogue witch trying to do human sacrifice in their territory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow Ghosts

The first time it happens Stiles has just stumbled home after he, Scott and Derek have dealt with a rogue witch trying to do human sacrifice in their territory. He’s in the bathroom, half turned to the wall as he starts tugging his shirt off because he’s covered in blood and he really wants to get cleaned off before his dad sees him. Except that before he finishes turning, before the shirt makes it past his head, he catches the mirror out of the corner of his eye, and he sees _it_.

Dark forest, a sliver of moonlight, and Derek bleeding out into the edge of a pond.

The same pond that he and Scott and had left Derek at digging a hole to get rid of the body in.

The shirt tears as Stiles shoves his way back into it, racing for his room and grabbing phone and keys. He’s leaving blood smeared along the walls, on his desk, but Stiles doesn’t really give a damn. They’ve been at this shit for too long for him to not pay attention to the things that happen around him. He’s in the jeep frantically dialing Scott before he’s even completely sure of what he saw.

Scott isn’t as concerned, but Scott still wishes they were sophomores with nothing to worry about except grades and lacrosse. Stiles still forces him to promise he’ll head back into the woods, because Scott is closer, and Scott is faster, and Scott will make it before Stiles can get there.

So it should work out.

Except, like everything when it comes to supernatural bullshit in Beacon Hills, it doesn’t.

Stiles pauses as he skids his jeep to a stop in nearly the exact same tire marks he left less than an hour ago. If Derek is really hurt, then that means the witch isn’t really dead, and that being damn near gutted by a werewolf apparently doesn’t put a damper on her day. So Stiles pops the top hatch at the back of the jeep and roots around in his lacrosse bag before coming up with a small 9mm that Allison acquired for him, and then grabs the machete that Stiles lined in silver with Deaton’s help.

After that it’s a careful rush through the woods, slithering from shadow to shadow with eyes and ears peeled. Because he doesn’t want to be right. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want some freaky new spark power that lets him see people dying, and he doesn’t want people dying.

He doesn’t want _Derek_ dying.

When he finds the pond again, still slivered by moonlight, Stiles sees Derek bleeding into the pond, just like he had out of the corner of his eye in the mirror, and Scott is on his knees in front of the witch, swaying from side to side while the bitch raises the ceremonial dagger Stiles had wanted to confiscate earlier, ready to kill Scott, too.

Stiles does the sensible thing. He raises his right arm, sights along the length of the barrel, and shoots her.

Then he darts over and before Scott even twitches Stiles has the hand with the dagger off at the elbow. Spraying blood is disgusting, and yes, that is a severed arm, but Stiles is pretty okay with it because she was a murderous psycho. And also, not Derek or Scott or anyone in the pack. His stomach turns when he puts the machete through the flesh and bone of her neck, but Stiles clenches his teeth together as he flips the head away from the body with the tip of the blade.

“Come back from that, bitch,” he mutters out before he turns and drops to his knees, heaving out everything he’s eaten in the last twelve hours.

Stiles is panting when he wipes his mouth almost a minute later, then he’s back up and scrambling. The gun gets tucked into the waistband of his pants, safety carefully clicked on, as Stiles heads for Scott. Scott doesn’t have any visible wounds and already is looking better. It was probably a spell, and that’s alright because according to Deaton 90% of spells dissipate with the death of the caster. So Scott should be fine. But Derek is still face down, partially in the water, and blood is still flowing.

His heart stutters as he grabs Derek’s shoulders and rolls him, the blood looking both silvered and black as it slips from two slits on either side of Derek’s throat. Stiles shakes his head, because this is _not_ happening. Not on his watch. There are packets of wolfsbane everywhere he is now; secreted in his room, at Scott’s and Derek’s, in the Camaro and the jeep. Dozens of kinds that can hurt, harm, kill and save. Stiles has no less than seven on him now, and two of them are exactly what he needs.

 _Aconitum fischeri_ is more white than purple or blue when powdered, and Stiles pays attention to it as he packs it against the wounds until they start to clot, seal and then knit. Then he looks Derek over with both eyes. There’s nothing else, and he’s breathing, albeit shallowly.

Stiles collapses back just as Derek’s eyes start to flutter open then search around. His eyes light on Stiles, then on Scott behind him, and Derek starts to try and pull himself up. “Wait,” Stiles tells him. “Just, wait. It’s fine, I got her.”

Derek breathes in, and it sounds painful even to Stiles’ human ears. “How did you know?” Derek’s voice is raspier than it should be, and Stiles tries very hard not to think about how close they came to losing their alpha tonight.

Stiles shakes his head. “Let’s just go with I'm suspicious when things go too easy for us,” he tells Derek.

Because honestly, he really doesn’t know what happened. And he really doesn’t want to even think about it right now, because in less than eight hours he has to be in AP English and, honestly, senior year is easier than trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

Of course, that’s about when Stiles catches the surface of the pond out of the corner of his eye.

His hand is already moving to the gun, the barrel still warm against his skin. Yeah, he really has no idea what the fuck is happening. But this time? He’s gonna burn the body.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumble with me](http://plotqueen.tumblr.com).


End file.
